A Bird in a Dream
by Elephants On Parade
Summary: Jonathan Crane, infamous Scarecrow, "Master" of Fear, was now a lanky, fluffy black kitten. Cat really. But more of a kitten. Small. Cute. Fluffy. You get the picture. Now, how the heck does that work out?
1. Getting Paws

**disclaimer: **I don't own Jonathan Crane or anything Batman-related. C:

**a/n: **I had to. Don't kill me, and enjoy, please?

* * *

_Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool?_

The inner voice made him stir in the hazy blur of the unknown. He blinked, vision obscured by something unusual. Jonathan huffed, wondering what the hell was wrong now with himself now. Bringing a hand to wipe away the by whatever it was that blocked his eyes, he found that what touched his face was _not a hand_. Jumping in surprise, he tumbled backwards, flailing. Out into bright light, and finding that what covered him were his clothes. Prison- asylum uniform actually. But, why was it so big? And why the _hell_ was everything so bright? It was night time. The Joker always escaped at night. Which meant everyone else had to as well.

This had been the one time Jonathan hadn't wanted to escape from the hellhole he once ran, but somehow he had been caught in the mix of scrabbling prisoners and frantic guards. He figured the best thing at this point would be to look at himself so see the damage. First he looked down. Then, he panicked.

_Paws_!? He had goddamn _paws_?

If he had paws, then what else was there? Twisting and turning to the best of his ability (to which he no longer knew the extent or limit of), he was able to deduce something obvious to the passer by.

Jonathan Crane, infamous Scarecrow, "Master" of Fear, was now a lanky, fluffy black _kitten_. Cat really. But more of a kitten. Small.

He could just hear the fangirls squealing.

At least he didn't need to wear kitty-glasses, seeing as his vision was now fine. Now, what to do about this situation? He couldn't go back to Arkham, that would be pointless. He would just get kicked by a guard. Or taken to one of the orderlies' homes. Or worse. The pound. While he might have enjoyed the prospect of not having to search for his food if he were in an animal shelter at this point, it would be more, ah, _beneficial _to find a nice caring person who could take care of his lonesome self.

_D'aaaw, is the kitty lonely? _Scarecrow cooed, laughing his ass off in the back of Jonathan's mind.

'Damn subconscious creatures.'

Scarecrow hissed and snapped, _Don't call me a creature. I'm not. I'm you._

So if Jonathan was a lonely kitty, didn't that make Scarecrow one as well?

_Damn you_.

'Much better.'

Something reached his sensitive ears, and they twitched as he buried his head. Someone was screaming. And they were screaming loud. Scarecrow insisted they not investigate, but as they say, curiosity killed the cat. Besides. This would be a good way to get used to his, er, paws- legs? And the tail. Yeah. That would take some getting used to.

The first steps were wobbly, uncertain, but then it just clicked. They tend to do that for you. Most of the time. Or perhaps it was just Jonathan. He didn't get his PhD on that subject, just the mind in general and fear. But that is well known by now. Breaking out in a fast, but steady trot he followed the sound, and the now prominent scent of blood.

Speaking of scents.

_The hell was that?_

An onslaught of putrid aromas, dank, wet, and decayed reached his (he noted) pink nose. It twitched, he scrunched his face waiting, and sneezed. He had noticed it before, but geez, cats sneezed loud. Jonathan could not let that distract him. Follow the blood scent. Metal. Salt. Rust. Those together, that's what blood smelled like. He could no longer find a reason to say fearing blood was unreasonable.

He was faintly amused by the pitter patter his paws made as they hit the concrete in a steady beat.

Pit-ter-pi-pi-ti-ti-pat. Pit-ter-pi-pi-ti-ti-tat.

"_Joker!_"

The guttural, loud, animalistic growl startled the poor cat out of his wits. It was loud, quite frankle, it was as if a bomb had gone off. Considering the situation, he figured it would be just his luck if there was one involved in this... scene.

This was the first time Jonathan had seen the two face off. Batman versus the Joker. Round... Thirty-three, no forty-nine? Sixty. Twenty? No wait, that wasn't the point. The point was, if there was going to be a bomb going off, and shit blowing up, a little kitty like him wasn't going to _survive_. Well maybe he had a chance. Jonathan doubted that. If he lived from a bomb explosion, he'd be a Two Face Cat.

Yes. Awful joke. We know. But he was _asking for it_.

It seemed cats thought slower than humans did. Or humans-that-turned-into-cats-for-some-unknown-reason think slower than regular humans. Either that, or the Joker just wanted Batman to hand him to the police personally. Which is what was happening at the moment. He scoffed.

What a waste of time.

_Indeed_, Scarecrow agreed, shaking his own slightly mangled kitty face that now took the place of the mask in the back of Jonathan's mind.

Let's see here.

_I wonder if Batman has a soft spot for cats?_

'Excuse me?'

_You heard me,_ Scarecrow replied, _I said I wonder if Batman has a soft spot for cats. You know. Ever since that Catwoman showed up (for three days) apparently had a make-out session with bats, and the pulled a vanishing act?_

'Why would he have a soft spot for cats?' Jonathan didn't see the connection between that. Even geniuses had their faults.

_Because,_ Scarecrow went on sarcastically, _Don't you know that the cat told the bat to be on the look out for stray kittens? Never now which one was one of her, ah ha, pets._

Nose scrunched he questioned, 'So you want me to do _what_ now?'

Chuckling, he explained, _Jonny. Jonny. Jonny. You're a kitten- cat, whatever, now. Go big round, blue-eyed kitten on him. Mew a bit pathetically. Shuffle your paws. Look, I dunno though the word, endearing?_

'But what's in it for me?'

_Warm bed. Food. Snuggles. Things cats like._

Oh ha ha.

Still, it was admittedly a good idea.

_And that's why we share a mind, Jonny._

That would have to stop soon, but he could bear with it for the time being. It was time for Jonathan Crane to act cute around Batman. Directed at Batman.

_Plus, we get to find out who the crazy behind the mask is._

Yes. He could do this.

Bright eyes set on the dark figure, he slunk out of the shadows slowly. Then let out a pitiful 'mew'. Batman didn't hear him. Too busy talking with Gordon. 'Hey! Don't ignore me. I'm _hungry, and lonely_,' Jonathan mewed, or at least, that is what he assumed it sounded like to the two humans, since they both looked down.

"A _cat_?" Gordon questioned, confused at seeing the black feline around.

_Ignore Mario-mustache, you want to appeal to Batman._

'This sounds like a dating coach service,' Jonathan told Scarecrow, before swinging big, wide-eyed "woe-is-me" look at Batman. Apparently it worked. Or Scarecrow was right in the first place. The caped crusader faltered in his talking with Gordon.

Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk, _talk_.

Having played all the games he could think of while the two talked (what were they, old women?), ranging from hangman with Scarecrow, chasing his tail and swatting at Batman's cape.

He got the sensation of being picked up, a leather glove around his soft belly.

'The hell?'

The batmobile was in sight.

'It worked?'

_Told you so._

_

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_**a/n: **Eh.... If you liked this crazy shit, tell me. |D It will make me put the next chapter up quicker. (supposedly).

Review, review, please, please? -bribes with pictures of cat!Crane for blackmailing purposes-


	2. Art & Collars

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Jonathan Crane or anything B-man related. C:

**a/n: **I APOLOGIZE BEFOREHAND ABOUT MY FAILURE TO WRITE ANY CHARACTERS OTHER THAN JONATHAN CRANE. I'm just no good at it. I swear it is my own mental incompetence.

Ohya. I never mentioned. This whole story pretty much is dedicated to Todd, my mind twin because without Todd I wouldn't have found the rough outline of the whole damn thing. Many much thanksen. The chapters are going to be longer (probably) now (which means updating takes a bit, but I don't have a specific word amount for each chapter so pah). The first one was just to see if people liked the idea. I'm awful like that. Also, I go about the Jonathan-Scarecrow thing like Scarecrow is Jon's _daemon_, or subconscious. Ya'know. Because I've realized it is just so much better that way. And it brings about this queer sense of peace to my mind. Er, and, ah, ek, the genres it says in the little thingie above all this aren't the only ones. It's usually those, but has others in it. 'Cause otherwise it would be b-oring.

T'okay, enough of me, now enjoy the story.

* * *

There was a great, thunderous wall that drowned out all other sound. Digging his claws into the sleek, nightmare black seat, wide-blue eyes staring around with panic. Fur flung out in all directions, little spears of a not-so-deep black giving him a feral appearance. A sharp turn caused Jonathan to go sliding into the side- door?- of the machine, dragging bits of hide with him. The seat he was frozen on, was no longer such a "perfect" seat. Twenty long slashes now worked themselves along the butt-cushion. Vision reeling, images distorted and blurred, he shook his head frantically to clear his mind. It made it worse, a ringing in his ears now joined the roar of the vehicle. Heart pounding furiously in his chest, he stood paralyzed for moments longer.

Curious to see what Batman's reaction was to this whole affair, Jonathan's eyes fixed on the crusader.

It didn't even look like he had noticed the cat's predicament, which irked the ex-doctor. 'Dammit',' he hissed at the cape wearing vigilante, 'You pick up a cat, and you don't even take care of it! God, I would hate to see what happened to your childhood pets- If you had any.' Didn't even look his way. _Now_ that wasn't good. Not for bats, anyways. Jonathan didn't know what trouble he could do as a cat, but he would make it hell for the bat.

With a cautious air, and a little 'mewp', he observed the bat as he took out a cellphone that was ringing- what was that ring tone? He didn't know it, and it was damn unusual. Jonathan decided it didn't matter because it seemed this was an important call.

"What? You still haven't found his body, or any trace of him? But he's been missing for three months," Batman questioned, "Are you positive there has no been trace of him?"

Jonathan could make out the garbled voice of Gordon on the other end, but it was incomprehensible.

"Dammit," Batman growled, "So we just presume he is dead?"

"_Yes, I'm afraid so_."

That he could make out, and his ears twitched faintly at the effort. The only question was, who were they talking about? Who was missing? Who was presumed dead? Who had they no trace of? Frustrated he could not figure anything out, Jonathan lay down on the seat, tail curling around his side. Having gotten used to, at least a little bit, to the extremities of being in moving vehicles while not a human, he was able to lay down without flipping out. It still made his heart race in a dangerous fashion, but he could cope with it.

Off-road was unexpected. Being thrown up and down and not strapped to a seat was an interesting experience. His paws were aching from the grip on the leather seat to keep from flying, claws probably dislodged in places. If he had ever undervalued what cats had to go through before, he no longer did. Cats had hell dealing with cars. For a reason now, it seemed. The off-road experience went by quick, and then a roar reached his sensitive ears.

Flattened against his skull, they still picked up the gargantuan sound that crept forth like a rumble from a great sleeping beast's stomach. Ashamed of being afraid of noises, he kept like that even as the batmobile hit solid ground, and halted to a stop. Trembling, shaking like it was in the negatives outside, the cat refused to remove himself from his curled up position for several minutes, and vain attempts from Batman. While Batman was getting himself situated, or something, Jon took the time to soothe his frayed nerves.

_That was unusual,_ Scarecrow stated, whiskers twitching faintly on his queer looking face- it held an edge of the mask to it that was worn when Scarecrow was in control. As an after thought his subconscious- Jon believed he had read that the proper term was _daemon_- added, _I assume the feline instincts kick in over our human reasoning. We are so jumpy now._

Rolling his eyes, he answered dully, 'No, really? I hadn't guessed.'

There was an unusual silence on Scarecrow's part, and then a bubble of laughter burst forth. _Kyahahaha! Kya- kya- kya- hahahaha! Look, look at who bat-freaking-man really is! They can't put two and two together? My word, people are truly imbeciles! Look you twit, it is _hilarious_!_

Interested in what his _daemon_was going on about, he turned his eyes towards where Batman had been doing whatever needed to be done- in this case changing into normal clothes. It took a few good seconds to actually kick in. 'Bruce Wayne!?' he sputtered, body shaking with laughter, 'Why that's just- just, you're right! Hilar-i-ous.'

Scarecrow huffed, _Don't do that again. That 'hilar-i-ous' thing. It was... not befitting of your character._

Eyes snapping up, and the Scarecrow growing silent and staring up at Bruce as well as the playboy approached. There was a wary 'now-don't-scratch-me' look on his face, as if he had more experience with dealing with women than animals. Wait. That was probably correct. Great, just great. Here Jonathan was, having to deal with a man, a rich man, who probably did not know how to properly take care of a feline. Huffing, he sent a glare in the direction of the Scarecrow, before flipping his blue eyes back on Bruce, who was smiling.

"Now then," the playboy muttered, "What shall I call you?"

Call him? Call_ him_? Oh no. The dark-eyed man had better not call him by a gay name like 'Fluffy' or 'Patches', something along those lines. Anything but. If he did, oh if he did, Jon was going to claw his face off. Slowly and painfully. See how many women he gets after that.

"I think," the tone was playful and brought Jon's rapt attention, "Crane."

Head snapping up, Jonathan stared at Bruce. He couldn't have figured out, could he?

"Hmm, you react to that name? Then I guess that was your name before."

'I hate games where one plus one,' Jonathan grumbled, 'Equals three.'

He just barely noticed Bruce putting the dark collar around his neck.

-

"A cat, Master Wayne?" Alfred inquired, glancing at the disgruntled looking feline with a look of apprehension. There were ways where he was glad that he wasn't going to be Bruce's only company, but bringing home a stray cat? It was odd, even for the billionaire.

"Yes, is that going to be a problem Alfred?" He sounded genuinely concerned, but they both knew Crane wasn't going anywhere soon.

"No, I'm just worried about what he will do to the upholstery," the butler replied, his generally sarcastic tone present.

"The upholstery?"

"Yes, Master Wayne, the upholstery."

Jonathan had lost interest in the conversation at that point, and seeing as he was going to be living in Wayne Manor from now on, had wandered off. Staring at the artwork that adorned the walls, the details in the construction of the home. One painting caught his attention the most- a dark, blurry landscape that a great, golden lion traversed. Large paws sinking into the earth, golden muzzle held up with pride. Wild red and gold mane flowing about its skull, eyes a sharp searching brown. Besides it, dark forms of small felines all having bright yellow eyes except for one- it had blue eyes.

Sudden panic overwhelmed him, and he fled. Tearing down the hallway in a direction he did not know until his paws touched cold tile. It was strange, almost as if he had seen the same painting somewhere, but a haze over his mind prevented remembrence of it. Shaking his head to rid himself of the panic, the feline looked around him. He was in a bathroom in colors of whites and pale blues. A large tub sunk into the floor, and a mirror covered a part of one wall.

With an urge to see what he looked like as a cat, he walked over to the large body mirror, and stared.

Then he blinked in confusion.

Hadn't he just seen himself as a cat?

Then why- why did he look human in the mirror?

Looking down, he saw that he still had paws. Looking into the mirror, he saw himself as a human- with dark cat ears and a tail?

It was odd, and if he was right, and what he was seeing was his human self, than he should have been nude. But, no. He was wearing a dark dress shirt, and skinny pants. The collar was there as well, wrapped around his neck, and his glasses were framing his blue eyes. Strange.

_Holy shit_, Scarecrow exclaimed, voicing both their thoughts.

'That,' Jonathan muttered, 'Is an understatement of the century.'

* * *

**a/n; **This took a bit to put up because I was debating whether or not to use the idea in the last part. Damn Ozmosis for showing me the manga _My Cat Loki_ and its shota!catboy goodness. /:

Damn him.

Anyways, this story now apparently has fanart. O: Thanks Forest B for the one of kitty!Crane playing with Batman's cape. I love it lots. :3

Review, review, review!

Please, and thank you.


	3. Watery Dreams

**Disclaimer: **I don't own. Simple as that.

**a/n: **Mmmm.... Yeah I like slash. Because who wouldn't? Well, I mean, not everybody does, but... most people who write fanfictions DO... so... er, yeah. Without slash, I wouldn't be who I am today. Just kidding about that, but I do so love slash. 'Specially Bruce/Jonathan. That makes me giggle like, er, the five-year-old kid high on sugar I am inside. Yeppers. And its pretty damn hot. :3 So I'll try to fit it in somewhere. No, more like I WILL fit the slash in somehow. I just... don't know how yet. O-o" Well, at least there will be hints of it in any case.

So, ah anyways, enjoy.

* * *

Bruce stirred, blinking in the early morning sun filtering through his dark curtains. There was a warm lump gathered on his side, and he feared it might be a reopened wound. Looking about, he found it to be Crane. The cat was curled up tightly, tail twitching in a dream. He smiled, and slumped back down into the pillows.

It would have been nicer if he could fall asleep again.

However, something was simply bothering him about that cat.

Why, why did it have the same fear-stricken eyes as Scarecrow? It was odd in the least.

Sighing, he glanced back at the cat and froze. Mouth dropping open, he rubbed his eyes and even pinched himself to be sure he hadn't fallen back asleep.

"Ow!"

Nope, he was not sleeping.

In place of the feline, a very human looking figure lay curled up, a peaceful expression on his face. Dark hair framed a pale face, and puffy lips were open with shallow breathing. Minus the dark attire, the man- cat? was a splitting image of Jonathan Crane.

Except for the feline features still there.

A tail wrapped itself around one of the cat's legs, and his feline ears twitched lazily.

Bruce groaned and flopped back down into his pillows. Then decided to take a chance and look back at Crane.

All he saw was a black cat.

Was he going mad?

-

Jonathan stared.

He really, honestly, tried to prevent the shudders from crawling up and down his spine, but he couldn't help it. Turning his gaze back to Bruce, questioning the man's sanity. He turned back to the object of his disturbance, and then back to the frowning playboy.

What? Did he expect Jonathan was a dog- something that liked water?

While as a human he was rather fond of personal hygiene (a little _too_ much in some cases), the feline dislike of water kicked in over that. And so he was conflicted. Get clean and get wet, or not get clean and not get wet? This was going to be a problem in the future, he just knew it. But for now... his nose twitched as he stared at the large tub full of water.

He was _not_ getting in that if it was the last thing he ever did.

Just couldn't.

"Oh come on, Crane," Bruce complained, "It's not that bad. A little water never hurt anybody."

'That's what you think,' he spat back, 'It never hurt _you_. I am not going in that tub to save my life.'

A perplexed expression crossed the younger male, as if he were seeing something he shouldn't. Or perhaps hearing. Jonathan pushed the idea aside, because it really did not concern him that Bruce might be loosing it. If he even had his sanity in the first place. "Aw, really," the billionaire paused, "I'll even get in the tub too."

The feline froze, and he stared at the tile with wide eyes.

What. The. Fuck?

That was supposed to remedy the situation? Rubbing his temples with his paws- hands?- and letting out a sigh. This was surely going to be the death of him. Hell, he could feel the blush creeping onto his face already. Jonathan had never given much thought to things most people did when nude- sex- because it had never occurred to him that he would ever find himself in a way.

He scowled. The hell were his thoughts going? This wasn't even that kind of situation. It was a cat-doesn't-like-water-but-owner-insists-on-the-bath situation. And there really didn't seem like a solution to it.

'If in your strange world, that fixes everything, go ahead. Be my guest,' he told Bruce, dipping a hand into the water to test it. It was lukewarm, and it was alright considering every fiber of his being was screaming I-hate-water!

_Splash!_

Sputtering, and clawing at the edge of the tub in an attempt to not go back all the way into the water, he glared at Bruce. The man had pushed him into the water. Furious and soaking, he snarled at the billionaire. 'The fuck was that for? I was going to get in you know!'

"Yeah, I know, but you were taking too long," Bruce replied with a smile, and then pausing in confusion. It was as if he had heard Jonathan talk, which was completely illogical.

But so was a human turning into a feline in the first place.

"And don't get your fur in a bunch," started Bruce, "I'll be coming in anyways."

He closed his eyes quickly- not wanting to see 'Batman' in the nude. That would do far greater damage to his mind- and his vision- than when Batman had sprayed him with his own fear toxin. Plus, he just didn't want to see.

Honestly.

What, did you think Jonathan was some kind of peeping tom?

He wasn't, really.

That was what the Joker did on most occasions. Look when people were changing. He was just like that, because the clown had no sense of decency.

Thankfully, Jonathan did, and therefor did not look.

We assure you, we wish he did, but he doesn't.

_Well, we really don't need to see _that_ now do we? _Scarecrow muttered, eye twitching slightly. It was odd that the billionaire would even get in a tub to wash a cat.

'Unless,' he mewed shakily, 'He says the er-, ehm..'

_Neko version of us instead of the feline one at times?_

'Yeah, that,' continued Jonathan, 'But that would mean he knows its us, and not a cat.'

_He could just think its a figment of his imagination. For all we know, Bruce Wayne could have a petty crush on you,_ Scarecrow teased, laughing slightly.

The feline froze when hands massaged feline-shampoo (it smelled like lilacs- freaking _lilacs_) onto his scalp and back. Then he replied to his _daemon_'s taunt, 'Yes but, why would he? He's only seen me out of my mask- what? Four times? And it was never on the best of terms.'

Scarecrow let out an exasperated sound, already he was fed up with Jonathan's clueless mind, _Look. I mean, it might be a physical attraction. Not an emotion one, ya know? Like he likes how you look- you _do_ look like a woman, mind you._

'I don't look like a woman!' he exclaimed, offended by the comment.

_You also act like one at times. And fine, you don't look like a woman. You look like a man with a high estrogen level._

'There's no difference to that,' he muttered with a pout.

_Exactly. So admit it- it is possible that Bruce has or had a crush on you. Or something. That's why he chose the name Crane. 'Cause even as a cat you have the same eyes._

'I guess so,' Jonathan muttered, sounding defeated.

Water rinsed the shampoo from his fur, and he felt clean. It was nice until he felt himself being lifted from the warm water. Shivering, he tried to get out of the grip, but it was rather hard to when being held by the scruff of the neck. A fluffy white towel was wrapped around him, and then moved about roughly to get rid of the excess moisture. It felt rather good, and he snuggled into it. Fluffy, warm place to take a nap...

* * *

**a/n: **I would have added this other part, but that seemed like a good place to stop. x3

The next chapter actually involves plot. O:

I know it does, because I have a wee bit of it typed up.

A hint for the next chapter- Jonathan used to paint!? (Because he strikes me as the kind of guy who used to take his frustrations out by making art.)

Review, review, review, review, please. They make me feel like I'm actually putting this up for a reason other than for myself.


	4. Splatter Bats

**disclaimer: **We've been over this. Really. You should know by now.

**a/n: **Sorry this took so long. Wounds, tests, and illness were apart of the slowness of my updating. Yeah. u-u" Not the best excuses, but they are true.

Did I ever tell you I love Thomas Schiff? No? Well I DO. x3

I am embarrassed by this chapter a little. Just... am. No reason. Really.

Enjoy. C:

* * *

His breath was heavy, unusually labored, as he wandered through the halls of Wayne manor. Jonathan was alone in the manor for the first time- and he was taking that time to do the obvious; explore. Bruce and Alfred tended to try and keep him busy, like they suspected something. Which was odd, but he took not to dwelling on that. Normally he would have taken as much time as possible to dwell on it, but today, today, for some reason he wasn't in the mood.

Something was bothering him.

Something was teetering at the edge of his mind, prepared to be unleashed full force.

Jonathan didn't want to be around anything expensive looking when that happened.

The only problem was that everything in this godforsaken manor was expensive. Much more than Jonathan had ever earned in a year, which in some trivial way sparked jealously. But a quick reminder that he didn't care for money put out the spark.

He had come upon a dark schemed room, full of blank white canvases. Paint, and paintbrushes as well. Essential supplies for being an artist- including some unfinished paintings lying about. Tilting his head, he wondered who painted them. Bruce, Alfred? Maybe an artist was hired to paint them. Sighing, he stretched lazily, before in one fluid moment leaping upon the desk.

Sniffing the paint brushes, he was tempted to make a mess of the place. But no, Jonathan had more dignity than that.

Instead he lunged at a bookshelf to better see what novels were there, but failed in the middle of the jump and plummeted right onto a blank canvas. The supports for the white material collapsed with the sudden jolt, and fell to the floor. Knocking over several bottles of paint and paintbrushes onto the floor.

Dazed, he stared fuzzily at the mess.

'Oh shit!' he yelped, panicking. This was a sure fire way to get kicked out of Wayne manor- even if it was an accident.

Breaking clearly expensive materials.

Oh no.. oh no...

_Hey, hey dipshit_.

'Don't call me that!'

_Fine, fine Jonny. Are you that against the past that you don't _remember_?_

'Remember what?'

_You used to paint. Under an alias, remember? You were pretty good at it until you got interested in fear._

He frowned, thinking about that before exclaiming, much to Scarecrow's amusement, 'Oh! Oh! I remember now! But, what does that have to do with this? Wait- you want me to paint a picture? Uh, how's, how the hell am I supposed to do that!? Work for you?'

Scarecrow sighed before going and pointing out, _You can use your hands as a cat, couldn't you? Before? Couldn't you? Well, I mean, you have them. Sort of. I guess. Just think you're using your hands, and it should work out like that._

About to say no thanks, but ending up staring at the paintbrushes with a sort of longing like- like instead of being a criminal, he could have ended up being an artist. Famous. Well known. Art work shown all over the world- but no. That was long ago.

Jonathan shook his head.

He didn't even know if what Scarecrow had said was true.

Still, still, it was tempting. A great deal more tempting than the catnip he had gotten into earlier- a fair deal more.

He couldn't believe he was going to do this.

-

Jonathan had made sure to leave the room before Batman got home- no need to see a cat painting. That wouldn't be weird at all. Nope. Totally normal. Perfectly sane. Perfectly ordinary to find a cat painting in your home actually using a paint brush. Like he said. Completely. Normal.

Heading towards the sound of Batman's voice when he got back, he froze when another voice filtered to his ears. He knew _that_ voice. Freezing, debating bolting away or to continue heading towards Bruce.

Shrugging his shoulders, he decided to risk it. The Joker wouldn't waste his time on a cat, right? _Right?_

Probably not.

A risky risk- but were they all not dangerous in some way?

Sheepishly looking into the room to find a Bruce changing out of his batsuit, and a Joker peeking over his shoulder at the vigilante. Jonathan flinched back, closing his eyes until he was sure the scene was over. Looking back again, he found the two beginning to chat. A little forced on the playboy's part, but the Joker seemed to be taking care of most of the actual speaking.

Weird.

Really weird.

But wasn't about this situation?

For all he knew, this was a very bad dream.

"So, ah, bats, you still haven't found our little friend?" the Joker prompted, staring obnoxiously (there was no other way to put it) at the playboy.

A scowl spread on Bruce's lips, "No."

"Three months, batsy? That's a bit long, don't ya think? Sure he hasn't kicked the bucket?"

"Positive."

"Why? There been reports of straw-head?"

"Nope. No body has turned up."

"Weeeeelllll, it ain't hard to get rid of a body, bats. Jonny's would be even easier to get rid of," the clown supplied, laughing slightly.

Jonathan paused. And then stared. Mind going blank for all of two minutes before it struck- he had been gone for _three months_? But from what he knew, he had only been out of Arkham for a day or two. Three days tops. That was impossible. But what had the date been when he had accidentally escaped that time? He didn't remember. He did. not. remember. That was ever stranger- he had been calling things strange recently, hadn't he? But that was what it all was.

He couldn't lie to that.

He couldn't.

Debating whether coming out from his hiding spot or staying there, he found his problem solved when a white hand suddenly came towards his face and the Joker's voice turned shrill, "Ooo! A kitty bats? Still sulking 'bout Catwoman? That hurts. It does. Now, come out _kiiiittttyyyy_!"

He did what he had never dared to do as a human- he attacked the Joker back. Well not really, more like scratched the pale white hand with sharp claws. Drawing blood. Blood from five thin lines running across the clown's hand. An unreadable expression crossing the painted face. Jonathan shuddered and backed further underneath the table, finding it uncomfortable to be underneath the short table. Seemed he felt more like his human self instead of his cat self when around people- if that made any sense.

Dangling in the air by the scruff of his neck was unexpected. What was worse was that the Joker's face was then right in his, and he could see that the clown's eyes were a green color. Dark, almost black, but unmistakably green. Flailing, attempting to scratch the man's face, but unsuccessful because the clown had pulled away just far enough that he couldn't reach him. Damn him. Blue eyes narrowing, lips drawn back in a snarl, tail flicking back and forth, he was clearly angry.

"Put him down, Joker," Bruce warned, sending a glare at the clown.

Turning his blue gaze to the playboy, Jonathan almost felt his jaw drop in shock. Almost. Bruce was defending him? Even if he was just a cat?

How, how, amazing! Simply amazing, while he could believe it in some ways (he was a defenseless animal), it still didn't fit. It just didn't click. The cogs didn't mesh together properly, didn't make the machine work properly. It was _wrong_. It felt wrong, wrong, wrong. Batman, no matter how clueless he was, should not be helping Jonathan. But he should. There he went, confusing himself.

Surprisingly, he felt the Joker put him down, but it was only because Alfred had come into the room. He listened to the old man as he started, "Master Wayne," pause, "the Joker, there appears to be a bat from the cave on the loose in the mansion. I tried to get it, but it just won't stay still."

The butler was used to the Joker's presence?

What. the. hell?

How long had this been going on?

Shaking his head furiously, Jonathan followed the small group as they went to detain the rogue bat. The _irony_. A bat going after a bat. The clown going with the bat after the bat. And he was following. Drawn by some inexplainable reason, he was following.

It made sense once he saw the furious nocturnal mammal fluttering haphazardly in circles. He watched, and slowly the image distorted. Twisted, became _real_. It was not a bat, no, no, no. It was a bat just as much as he was a cat. A young man- wait, not that young, was that Thomas Schiff? Was it? How the hell had that boy become a _bat_? Perhaps he could offer some insight. Leaping forth, he mewed calmly, 'Schiff. Schiff. _Thomas_! Look at me. Now.'

The winged creature stopped in its panicked fluttering, just dropping to the floor upon recognizing the voice. The dark eyes of the paranoid man turned to stare widely at Jonathan (perhaps the only person who had ever heard Schiff's full "story"). 'Do-doctor Cr-crane?' he sputtered, looking around, vaguely focusing on his surroundings, 'Tha-that y-y-you?'

'Yes,' then he prompted in a soothing tone he hadn't remember he had, 'Do you know why you are a bat?'

Furiously shaking his head, whimpering slightly, lips pressed tightly together, the former Arkham patient refused to speak.

'That's alright now, Thomas,' Jonathan continued, using his "nice" psychiatrist disguise, 'Why don't you come over here?'

He got eyes widening in response. Oh. That's right. Jonathan was a _cat_. A predator, while Thomas was a _bat_. Prey. Shaking his head in a disappointed manner, Jonathan began, 'I won't eat you. I swear. I swear. Solemnly, if that helps.'

The ex-patient-turned-bat suddenly flung himself at the ex-doctor, clinging to the man's back, shuddering with dry sobs. Patting Tom on the head, he tried his best to do a soothing voice again, 'There, there. I'm sure there is a way out of this, Thomas.'

He got mumbles in return.

Then Jonathan wondered what this looked like to Bruce, the Joker, and Alfred. A cat with a bat clinging to its back- strange. They probably expected him to attack Thomas. No. He was not going to. He was, sort of, friends with Thomas, so that wouldn't be nice, now would it? Yes. Laugh all you wanted- he had a "soft side".

For _very_, _very_, few people.

"Looks like he made a friend," the Joker exclaimed suddenly, pointing out the obvious.

* * *

**a/n: **So yeah. Plot. C:

And Thomas Schiff. The adorable little shizo-paranoid ex-patient. He's just.. awesome in my opinion. I like characters that aren't appreciated that much. Well, I believe Jonathan's appreciated a lot, but that could just be me. Is it!? D:

Review, review, review, and review some more.

Please?


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